Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Her smile comes slowly but it’s sincere. “Then I’m damn happy for you, even if that means one less smoking hot billionaire on the market for the rest of us.”
I smile. “Sorry?”
“Right.” She reaches for her coffee, taking a long sip.
“Wait a minute,” I sit up with a frown. “Who said I’m worried that Damien might get killed?” I didn’t tell anyone.
“You’re not worried?”
I shake my head. “Of course I am, but I don’t know how you know that.”
“It’s obvious. At least it was the minute you realized he stayed at Hope House.”
Shit. “Yes, I am worried about it.”
She nods. “You should be worried just because it’s natural, but I recommend that you find out why those guys were murdered if you want to know whether he’s truly at risk.” She shrugs. “He might be completely safe.”
“Yeah,” I huff and roll my eyes. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Smart ass.” We sip our coffee and talk. “Did Laurel Kinney give you anything useful?”
I shake my head. “She wasn’t at Hope House long enough, but she remembered Damien being quiet and weird, remembered Zeke taking pictures of everyone.” Everything is helpful in an investigation, even the things that aren’t. “But something feels off, Amelia. There haven’t been any murders in over two months, knock on wood, but there are still several names on the Hope House roster. We’ve talked to a few of the men we tracked down, but they didn’t give us anything.”
“Hmmm,” Amelia muses, her gaze far off like it is when she’s deep in thought. “Maybe that’s the answer. There are only a few things people are embarrassed about years later. Sex and crime are the two that come to mind most often.”
I glance at the clock, realizing I’ve been in Amelia’s office longer than I intended. “I should get going,” I say, tossing my now-empty cup into the trash can. “There’s work to do, and I still have to follow up on those leads.”
Amelia smiles and nods. “I can always count on you to keep your nose to the grindstone. Just remember to take care of yourself while you’re at it.”
I smile back, appreciating her concern, even if I don’t always show it. “Thanks, Ames. I’ll see you later.”
“Congrats on the engagement. You did good.”
I turn and say, “Thanks.” before heading to my office, admiring the diamond on my finger.
Amelia’s words stick with me for the rest of the day. Sex and crime are so fucking vague it could be anything. They could’ve been experimenting together as teenagers sometimes do, or maybe they robbed houses together, ran a pick pocketing ring downtown or any of a hundred other options. “How does it all fit together?”
I spend the afternoon going through criminal records, even the sealed ones of all the kids who lived there during the time our victims did when I finally get closer. “It’s something that went unreported. Of course!” I feel silly for not realizing it sooner, but that’s the obvious answer. The boys committed a crime together and someone is making sure they don’t blab about it.
The question is why?
“Why what?” Jay’s question pulls me out of my head, and I look up with a wary glance because there’s a weirdness between us that’s never been there before and I don’t like it, but I’m not ready to question it.
“Nothing,” I answer quickly. “I’m heading home for the night. I’ll see you in the morning.” I leave the precinct, ready to spend the evening with my fiancé, at least until Damien texts that he’s going to be late.
Again.
I cuddle up with some tea and a book and fall asleep on the couch.
“So, where’s the crime scene?” I ask Jay as I slide into the passenger seat of his sedan.
Jay flashes me with a grin, but something about it feels wrong. Too forced. Too casual. “Two blocks from where Hope House used to be.”
My stomach churns. “Wow. That’s too obvious, even for this guy. Maybe especially for him.” None of this makes sense. “Is this the Butcher of Beverly Hills, or are we just next in the rotation?”
Jay arches one brow in my direction. “Since when are you using that stupid fucking name?”
“It’s better than calling him the unsub or the killer. This makes him sound like a killer in a cheesy horror movie.”
Jay lets out a snort laugh, but it feels hollow. The rain outside pounds harder, the windshield wipers barely keep up, squeaking with each pass. “They haven’t ID’d this guy. But they think he’s one of ours.”
Something’s off. Something about Jay feels wrong. Secrets hang in the air between us, and I don’t like it.
“So, what’s your theory? I know you’ve got one,” he asks, voice casual but with an edge I can’t place.
“What makes you think that?”
“Because yesterday I caught you staring into space and talking to yourself. Usually when that happens you come up with something useful.”